What War is all About
by child-dragon
Summary: Inspired by the Meridell war. A young zafara finds out that honor and glory are not what they seem.


            I stopped to rest for only a moment.  My sword hung slack in my hand, my breath was coming in gasping heaves.  I could feel the sweat slicking down my white zafara fur, leaking into my eyes and causing me to hiss in pain from the salt.  I sucked in another lungful of air and pulled off my helmet, dropping it to the ground with a muffled thump.  My bangs were plastered against my forehead and I wiped away the sweat, my breathing slowing now, my shoulders no longer trembling.  They'd come down on us so fast.  Jeran had called out some orders – I can't remember exactly – and I had tried to obey.  That was important in a war, following orders.  But it had dissolved into chaos.  There was shouts, panicked pets, and above it all the constant threat that somehow, I would die.  I remember seeing Jeran, his fangs bared and eyes narrowed, as if _daring _one of the enemy to engage him.  He was ready, his sword eager for battle.  And I… I was terrified and lost.  Someone had engaged me then, I couldn't tell anything except for the Darigan colors and the sword they held.  I didn't want to kill him.  I really didn't, but after the first blow was exchanged I realized it was him or me, and with a sudden desperations I … sidestepped.  And went under his guard – just like I'd been taught – and found a weak point in his armor.  That was all.

            I shuddered and gazed down at my sword.  The blood was running down the groove in the middle, pooling on the forest canopy of fallen leaves.  I felt sick.  The smell of it merged with my own sweat, a reek of leather and copper.  The breastplate I wore felt confining, like I was trapped in it.  I'd already abandoned my helmet.  It was just obscuring my vision, blinding me to what was happening around me.  I didn't have time to abandon it in our wild flight to the forest, but I was glad to be rid of it now.  I hesitated for a moment, then reached up and loosened the straps, letting the breastplate fall off and away onto the forest floor.  There.  Just chain mail now.  It was lighter and allowed more mobility.  And right now, I just wanted to be able to breath.

            I started to clean my sword, like they told me to, but realized how pointless that would be.  I'd just be using it later.  And somehow, as numb as I was, that thought didn't bother me.  So I pushed off of the tree I was leaning on and staggered slightly, my tail dragging along the ground.  This was my first battle, my first war.  I had only been old enough to enlist after the first war, and I did so immediately.  My brother had fought and died in it and I wanted to honor his memory by wearing a Meridell uniform in his place.  I found myself lumped with Jeran and at the time I thought there was no greater honor.  I was going to go off and be a soldier, winning glory for my king and captain.  What had gone wrong?

            I had to find Jeran.  He'd know what to do.  Things were too complicated now, right and wrong, shame and glory were all blurring into one confused haze.  I couldn't do this.  I was just a zafara, a lost little zafara.  My mother had cried when I'd gone off to fight.  At the time I didn't know why.  

Jeran.  I had to find my captain.  Honor and duty, loyalty and violence.  I'd just have to follow him then, to the ends of Neopia and beyond.  It was that simple.  So I raised my head, sniffing delicately to see if I could catch a whiff of the blue lupe.  Nothing but metal and blood.  I scowled in disgust.  What use were these zafara senses if they were just mired down by other things?  I took a deep, calming breath, and closed my eyes for just a moment, trying to concentrate.

            The next thing I knew there was a tremendous force that threw me back.  I gasped, staggered, and stared at nothing but the red haze that filled my vision.  Impossible.  A hiss, then another hit, and I went down, falling to my back, the red haze deepening and pain flaring in my chest.  I gasped, gagged, and rolled to my side, numbness spreading up my body.  Where was my sword?  What had happened?  I glanced down then, in disbelief at the two arrows that were even now starting to seep blood.  I coughed and felt copper in my mouth.  I couldn't breath.  They were filling… with what?  Blood?  No… impossible.  I was young, I was a soldier, I was supposed to live and be brave and fight.  Not die here in the dirt.

            There were footsteps and I saw a crossbow dangling from a purple-furred paw.  I felt liquid against my skin, soaking warm into my tunic and fur.  No.  Impossible.  But the wooden shafts hovering in the air, fletched with black and purple was undeniable proof.  While I was busy being dazed and confused they snuck up on me.  How stupid.  How incredibly stupid.

            The Darigan eyrie kicked my shoulder to roll me onto my back.  I gasped, trying to draw in breath.  Everything was hazy, uncertain, and I could feel my body growing cold.  Did that mean I was dying?

            "Blast.  Still alive," the eyrie muttered, "No choice then."

            He knelt, drawing a dagger and grabbing my hair to tilt my chin back.  I struggled briefly, reaching up to grab his hand but he swatted it away like I was just a little child.  And maybe I was.  But then I looked into his eyes.

            "You're as young as me," I breathed, and felt more blood trickle down my chin.

            He halted his dagger inches from my throat.

            "I – I think…" I whispered, "You wanted honor and glory for your nation, didn't you?"

            For a moment his eyes swam with confusion and fear.

            "That's what being a soldier means," the eyrie replied, just as softly, "Isn't it?"

            "I suppose so.  But… do you think…"

            And a spasm ran through my body, a reminder that there were still arrows in me, and that I was still wracked with pain.  His gaze narrowed, softened.

            "Yes, I think so," he said, completing what I could not say, "You could have been my friend, maybe even my sister."

            And he relaxed his grip on my hair, cradling my head instead.  And I knew that this was war, this was what it meant.  It meant dying, alone and unsung.  I felt tears in my vision, washing away the haze of death.  Had my brother died this way, forgotten and frightened in his last moments?  And yet… I wasn't all that afraid.  Perhaps it was because I wouldn't die alone like my brother did.  The enemy, my killer, was here beside me, and we were the same in a way.  I would have done the same thing had our positions been reversed.  This was how it was.    

The eyrie's resolve was wavering the longer he held the dagger.  I smiled thinly up at him.  He wasn't my enemy any more.  Death had made us equal, my dying form had erased all boundaries.  Time for last words, last regrets, and don't forget the last time to say goodbye.  Forgive me then mother, that I went off to war with notions of glory.  Forgive me Jeran, that I failed you and Meridell.  Forgive me my brother for not living in your stead.  And forgive me my enemy, for being the one to show you what war is all about.

            "Go on then.  I forgive you, and besides, it's too late now," I managed to say.

            For I was indeed dying.

            "It was too late a long time ago," he replied, "But still.  I'm sorry."

            And then the dagger made one quick motion and there was nothing more.


End file.
